A killer!
And how dare he make such a proposition, leveraging her one friend against her? The one person she longed for almost as dearly as her departed mother. It was a cruelty only a vampire could conjure.
And to leave her as he had. To vanish into the night and let her stew—for three whole days now—over what he’d asked. To become his blood supply. To let him taste her. The thought of his lips, his fangs, histongueupon her set her heart poundingso violently she thought it might break through her chest. Her mouth went dry with something deeper than thirst.
Yet, the way he spoke of her music as if he truly understood the words she was unable to say. In truth, no one had ever said much of her music beyond compliments on the grace with which she played, and the delicacy of the notes. Especially not the men of her town. They were focused on the important things, on running the town. On keeping everyone safe. Of course they would not have time to notice such things.
Still—no.No. She would refuse him. Penelope was not as brazen as Eleanor, but she was resourceful. She could find another way to send her a letter. Somehow.
She did not need a cunning, silver-tongued vampire.
Just as much as she did not need nor want a vampire tasting her. Eating her. The thought alone reminded her of just how large he was. His broad shoulders and massive build was enough to hide her completely should she stand behind him. And if he were to tower over her? No one would know he was devouring her.
And each night, you will let me drink from you until you have satisfied me.His words made her stomach clutch. He offered her this as if he was truly doing her a favor. As if he were to be trusted.
Penelope’s fingers gripped the fork tighter as she nudged the fish again.
And even if she did teach him, had he ever been near a piano in the first place? His hands were large, surely he would have no trouble in reaching the keys unlike Penelope. It had taken years for her to learn how to play as well as some of the other students. She had always been smaller, yet next to him—well she had never felt smaller in her life. Elias would surely be able to reach the keys with ease.
And wait—no! She could not actually be considering his offer? It would never work.
Finally, her father cleared his throat.
“You remember Henry, the Whitlock’s boy?” he asked, still chewing his fish. “He’s returned from his studies across the waters. Quite established now. A match worth considering.”
The scrape of her fork against the plate cut through the silence as Penelope lifted her eyes to meet his. “A match?”
His face lit up as he nodded as if watching her unwrap a carefully selected gift. “Such an arrangement would steady your future. Secure you.” His tone was light and almost excited. “Perhaps even offer more allowances in your life that you do not currently posses.”
“Such as?” she asked, placing her fork flat on the table.
Her memories of Henry were little more than shadows—fond, yes, but faint. Their meetings had been brief, scattered, but she remembered he had been gentle. His father, too, had wielded discipline without cruelty, which alone made them rare commodities. Their family had sponsored more than a few of her father’s political wars, even making Autumntun their second home during the re-elections.
After he left for his studies, word from him all but dried up. It had been so long she could scarcely summon his face—only the faintest scraps of a boy she once played beside. Though she knew those fractured memories would never survive against whatever the years had carved him into now.
He was a man now, as she a woman.
It was only natural her father would wish to arrange such a union. Still, his name felt strange in her ears after so long.
“Perhaps regular walks in the garden. Ventures into town. A proper evening.” His voice became muffled as he stuffed another bite of fried bread into his mouth. “I have invited them for tea tomorrow. Henry is looking forward to meeting you. Be sure tostudy Mrs. Pencrook’s teachings tonight. If all goes well, you could be Penelope Whitlock. Wouldn’t that be something?”
“Yes, father.”
He nodded once, satisfied, and returned to his meal.
Penelope Whitlock…
This was her duty. This was what she had been waiting for her entire life and yet… unease pressed low in her stomach. A year ago and Penelope would have been begging her father to take her into town to buy a new gown. Her memories of Henry may have been distant, yet she, of course, like all other families knew of the Whitlock name. Every girl in Autumntun would sell her own mother to marry into that family, should the chance arise.
So why was her mind still shackled to that damned vampire?
She could tell her father now. Confess everything—that Elias had been in her room, had spoken his obscene bargain, had touched her with such relentless ease. She could cast it all aside—the deal, the lessons, the letters. She could walk away unscathed.
And yet… her lips stayed shut.
By the time she excused herself, her jaw ached from restraint. She climbed the stairs, each step heavier than the last, her pulse dragging her forward.
The door shut behind her with a quiet click. She felt herself giving in to the weight of her body as she leaned against the door, finally enjoying the peace and—
